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"Pardon moi?" Francis asks through the cell phone. Surely he didn't hear Antonio right, because if he did hear such an unlikely sentence...
"France, all I'm asking is for you to do this! Look, he's just got kicked out of his parents and... I sorta feel bad for the guy! On account that it's Christmas Eve," Antonio responds.
"Have you forgotten the 116 years I spent at war with him?" Francis whispers, voice harsh. "And how do you even know he's going to say yes anyways?"
"Oh c'mon France-y, can't you do your friend a favour?" He says, quiet. Francis can't help but chuckle at his friend's feeble attempt to guilt him, but it worked.
"Fine, fine. I'll try." That seemed to lighten his friend’s mood, and he smiled as he listened to the cheering on the other side of the phone. They say their goodbyes, and Francis brings up Arthur's number. "I expected there to be dust by now." He jokes. Taking a deep breath in, he pushes the call button. 3 rings go by, and just as he thinks he's in the clear--
"Hello?"
"Oh, Arthur. It's France." He says.
"What do you want?" The liveliness in his voice drops.
"Well I heard you got booted out of your parents house for burning down the house-"
"I did no such thing, and I don't want your sympathy." Arthur hisses.
"Hey, I'm just trying to be the person that's nice to you for once in your boring life, but fine, I will back off." Francis says cockily. "If you want to spend Christmas alone that is."
"Well I certainly do not want to spend it with you of all people." He scoffs.
"As do I, but where else will you go? It's 18:00, who would you call? Everyone's out celebrating." Francis coos as he twirls a stray strand of hair around his finger. He hears the brit let out a disgruntled sigh.
"...Oh, but what happened to you?" Arthur suddenly replies. "Shouldn't you be courting some woman that you 'swept off her feet' out to dinner by now?" Francis's smile drops.
"Annalise was busy," He admits. "She had... family matters to attend to. Now is it a yes or what, Rosbif?"
"... I'll be over in 10." Arthur says, and hangs up without a second word. Francis shoved the phone back in his pocket, making the littlest effort to prepare the guest accommodations.
"Welcome!"
Francis promised himself he would try to at least be hospitable to him. He helped Arthur get his leather jacket and worn-out (and rather tacky) boots off and heard him murmur a quiet grunt of regret before setting his bag down, since he'll be there until he can convince his parents he won't play loud music at five in the morning on full blast, as he made his way towards the toasty fireplace. He was about to go into the kitchen but he stopped for a moment, staring. In that moment, Arthur warmed his hands quietly, a small smile spreading across his face. A small blush wiped Francis's face as he glanced at Arthur, before turning away. He smiled to himself. He had always thought he felt negative towards this man, but seeing him in a sense of bliss made a familiar warm feeling fill his heart. He's heard every one of his friends talk about it, and even he's felt it before towards England in the rare moments when he smiled in his presence (but he always scoffed it off, pretending it didn't exist), and it's been mentioned so frequently in old and new folk tales alike. You know, the heart fluttering, the hand shaking, the stomach knots; Francis was in love, and he was fine with it.
He prepared his coffee and Arthur's tea, and brought them out with a blanket. Francis handed him his cup and sat next to him, watching the television above the fireplace. Arthur takes a sip of his tea and immediately makes a disgusted face.
"What did you put in this? Death?" He asks, setting it down and nudging it away, casting an unhappy look its way.
"It's definitely better than what you would've chosen, mon cher." Francis sips a bit of his coffee as Arthur's head whips back to glare at him.
The few minutes of contently watching A Christmas Story and listening to the sleepy background music from the radio that let them relax passed shortly. Arthur stood up and grabbed his bag to put in his room, but stopped and turned towards the other man.
"As much as I hate to say this to you ever, thank you frog for being the tiniest bit hospitable." He spits out, quietly saying that last part in hopes Francis wouldn't hear.
"Well, you're welcome,” Francis snorts.
"Ah," Francis stands up abruptly and strides towards his door-frame. "I may have also forgotten to mention this." He says with a small smile, gesturing upwards. Arthur pauses his unpacking to look to where the idiot was pointing and saw what he had hoped was not in this house: a fresh string of mistletoe. Noticing Arthur's cheeks darkening slightly, Francis stifled a giggle in his coffee, watching Arthur step towards him with quite a pissed off expression on his face, which only makes Francis smile more at his foolish yet adorable attempt of 'Mr. Serious-all-the-time'. Francis turns his head slightly to walk out of the door, but a hand firmly adjusts it back as he feels like lips being placed on his, which makes him almost drop his scalding hot coffee. A small smile spread across Francis's lips as he gingerly returns the kiss.
"Merry Christmas, you moron." Arthur says, smiling as their lips part.
"And a happy new year to you too, mon amour." Francis replies.